


Proven Wrong

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mentioned of Drug Usage, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9187157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: Having a younger brother was definitely a challenge as Mycroft Holmes learned it the hard way throughout his life. Still, he wouldn't trade it for the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A nod to [Kate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vertual/pseuds/vertual), the super BETA-reader. No, seriously.

i.

Sherlock was a nuisance; he was stupid and would never look half as good as him. Mycroft decided that when he was only seven and Sherlock was merely a few months old, chewing on toys and laughing happily at faces that Papa or Mummy made to amuse him. Yes, definitely an idiot. At seven he was already wallowing at the thought of having to be his brother’s keeper. He didn’t know how right he would be then, but for a completely different reason.

 

ii.

There was no way Sherlock would go to any other school other than Eton (and Oxford), Mycroft was sure of it. But, he was wrong. Sherlock blatantly refused to follow the path which Mycroft and their father, their grandfather, their Uncle and even great-grandfather had paved. When Sherlock applied to Harrow instead (and Cambridge, which their mother attended), it was not an act of defiance; Mycroft learnt that later in life. It was just Sherlock trying to figure himself out. It would have been easy for him to simply go to Eton (and Oxford) with the last name Holmes. He would have been treated differently, like he was royalty. They did, after all, come from a long line of successful scholars and one of their great-great-grandfathers was a minister. And though from a junior branch, they are pretty much considered ‘titled’, even without a proper indication that they were.

 

No, Sherlock had to know he could get to where he was in his own way, on his own terms. Not because he was a Holmes, not because he was Mycroft Holmes’ baby brother, not because his parents could afford to send him to the best schools. He needed to know he was intelligent enough to survive all on his own. And he did, until he got mixed up with what Mummy liked to call ‘the wrong sort’. Mycroft had done everything in his power to bring his brother back from hell, then. It wasn’t an easy task, but not even Hades himself would want to argue with Mycroft Holmes.

 

iii.

Sherlock was gay; whatever contact he had with women had purely been experimental. He was more certain of his deduction when John Watson moved in with his brother. Well, at least Sherlock was going to come clean soon enough.

 

Though, of course, that never happened. Sherlock’s disinterest in anyone of any sex only became more apparent, unless he was working on a case which would require him to turn on the Holmes charm. Oh, Holmes men are charming in their own ways, Mycroft knew that. How else would Papa have managed to woo Mummy in the first place?

 

It took him until Sherlock suggested asking for Molly Hooper’s help to fake his death for Mycroft to realize, it was never John Watson. True, Sherlock loved John, but it was in the most boring, mundanely platonic way. John was his first true friend; Molly Hooper was something else entirely. The very first person Mycroft had ever seen his brother bow to. Needless to say, the petite pathologist piqued his interest from thereon.

 

iv.

Sherlock would die before he was even forty. It would most probably from drug addiction. Mycroft was only half right on this account. Sherlock did ‘die’ when he faked his own death. For all intents and purposes, Sherlock Holmes, to the world, was deceased at the age of thirty-five when he jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s Hospital.

 

v.

There wouldn’t be a time where Sherlock won’t need his help; at least, he thought there never would be. But, the days of his brother turning to him grew fewer and fewer. Mycroft sat quietly in his chair at the club, musing as he read the reports on Sherlock. He had come a long way, further than Mycroft was ever willing to admit. The begrudging way Sherlock accepted his assistance was a forgotten pastime. Sherlock was capable of more, more than anything Mycroft would ever understand.

 

And Sherlock had friends. As much as Mycroft scoffed at the idea of friendship, he was very glad Sherlock had those he trusted.

 

That night, Mycroft revised the security detail around Sherlock. Loosening the noose, so to speak, leaving only few watchful eyes around his little brother as he ran around London.

 

Sherlock would be fine. Mycroft believed he would.

 

vi.

Sherlock was in love with Molly Hooper and Mycroft was sure of it. Despite his cynical view on love and believing there was no advantage in caring, he believed that Doctor Hooper would be a good influence on his baby brother. Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock would be happier with Molly Hooper in his life.

 

It took only ten years, three failed relationships and one failed engagement on her part, one dominatrix (Miss Adler), one opportunist (Miss Hawkins) and one psychopath with an extremely unhealthy obsession (Mr Moriarty) for Sherlock to come to his senses. Mycroft found out through his agents that were tailing the couple, but then again, maybe Sherlock shouldn’t have had confessed to Molly Hooper in the middle of the park where they were in plain view of multiple strangers.

 

vii.

He knew his baby brother would be a great father. Sherlock had more love in his heart than he ever dared to admit. This was one of those rare moments when Mycroft was absolutely right about his brother. He was there the moment Sherlock’s first child was born. He watched how Sherlock was unsure with himself for the first time ever. He watched the worry etched on his brother’s face as he took his child, barely hours old and wrapped in the most typical pink bundle, from Molly’s arms. Sherlock was terrified, not at the prospect of being a father – that was rather too late anyway – but at the prospect dropping the child, such a fragile little thing, worried that he would not be able to hold her properly.

 

Mycroft watched from afar, quite often, behind the safety of the vehicle with tinted windows whenever he had the chance. He would keep an eye on the family when they were out having a small picnic during the summer or a short walk on a cold day. He watched as his eldest niece grow up, turning into an amazing woman and then his nephews – especially the youngest – getting into trouble, but, figuring out their lives eventually.

 

Then again, maybe it was an inherited trait. Holmes boys, the younger ones, would generally find themselves into trouble during their youth. There was their Uncle Rudolph, and then Sherlock, and then Sherlock’s youngest son, Rory. But, give them a few years and some life lessons. They would turn out just fine.


End file.
